Life in a New Country
United States of America
Lily with her sister, Melan
My parents and I moved to America in 1994 to Dallas, Texas. Although we had one family member there waiting for us, adapting to life in America was very difficult for my parents and often humorous. One afternoon, shortly after we arrived, my mother was shopping at a local grocery store. As she glanced up from the shelf, she saw a man dressed in a bright-colored bra, stockings, and floral underwear. My mother was awestruck and baffled and thought, “Wow, some people in this country are a bit strange!” Little did she know that it was Halloween; it took some explanation.
At times, however, our adaptation was also very scary. When I was about eight years old, my family owned a Seven Eleven convenience store. The store was doing really well, and we had regular customers. Unfortunately, once 9/11 occurred, however, our family was the target of a lot of racism and intolerance. Many regular customers stopped coming to our store because they erroneously believed that we were Arabs. In an attempt to demonstrate our American pride, my father displayed American flags all over the store and hung them up on the windows; sadly, none of this helped. One winter afternoon, a customer came in to buy a pack of cigarettes. He was a heavy-set, bald man who looked about fifty. He stared at the necklace around my mother’s neck and demanded, “Why are you wearing that?”
My mother was alarmed and replied, “What are you talking about?”
“That,” he said, pointing at her gold cross. “Aren’t you just another ‘_______’ Muslim?”
My mother glared at him and quietly replied with dignity, “I am a Christian from Eritrea and also an American citizen.” As the hysteria of 9/11 calmed down, a couple of customers started to warm up to us again, but our store never fully recovered.
Furthermore, when I was thirteen years old, my family and I went through many financial difficulties. We had to survive on one income. Desperately trying to provide for us, my father was forced to open a convenience store in a very bad part of town. He worked countless hours and many night shifts in order to feed us and put us through school. One night, my father was standing behind the cash register reading a book as he patiently waited for customers. All of a sudden, two men sporting black ski masks and gloves burst through the door! They saw my father standing alone in the empty store and immediately charged at him. One of the robbers pulled out a silver pistol and aimed it at my father. As he approached my dad with his gun, the robber yelled, “Hands up! Hands up!” and my father hurriedly obeyed. The man with the gun continued to bark at my father, “Now lie on the ground!!” My father quickly hit the floor. The other man, the one without the gun, jumped over the counter and opened the register. My father, still on the ground, prayed and thought about how hard he had worked to provide a better life for his family in America. He kept thinking that he wanted to stay alive to see us grow, graduate, and be successful. One robber gathered all the cash in the register, while the other aimed his pistol at my dad. After they had collected about $700, they ran out the door and left my father unharmed, thank God. Immediately after that incident, my father sold the store; he knew that all of his efforts were not worth it if he couldn’t even be here to see us achieve. At a very young age, I knew that my parents desperately wanted my sisters and me to become educated so that we would not have to endure the same struggles, racism, and intolerance that they had experienced to bring us here.
Now 18 years old, I look back on the sacrifice my parents made for our survival and education. Over the years in America, my parents have worked insanely hard to give my sisters and me good lives. They’ve only had one sincere request – that they would someday see us walk across the stage and graduate from one of America’s great colleges. Knowing that my parents never had the privilege of a higher education, I realize how much value it holds. I understand how fortunate I am to live in this country, where women have the opportunity to be successful, where children don’t have to enlist in the army, and where I can earn a degree to help people in other countries who are seeking an education. The fact that I will be the first in my immediate and extended family to attend college proves that my parents’ hard-work, endurance, and determination were all worth it.
While my family’s journey has profoundly affected the value that I place on education, my various travels have led me to uncover the sad realities of education that plague many developing countries. During my service trip to Morocco in 2009, I spent one month in the village of Toufestelt, located in the Moroccan Atlas Mountains, where I met many amazing, generous and interesting people. Two girls in particular, however, made an indelible impression on me. Iman, a fourteen year old girl, always smiled despite her circumstances. She was very smart and spoke English well, along with Arabic, French, and a little Italian. Every day, Iman walked six kilometers to school and back. Unfortunately, Iman’s father decided that this journey to school was too unsafe for his daughter because of potential muggers, rapists, and kidnappers. Consequently, he took Iman out of school and kept her at home. Daily, I watched as Iman begged her father to return to school and consoled her when he refused. I also met another girl, Hadija, who was eighteen years old and had never attended school. Each day, she scrubbed the floors, cooked for her family, made tea for her father, hand-washed the clothes, fed the animals, and took care of her little brother. I noticed that whenever Hadija found time, even just five minutes, she would take out a Dr. Seuss book and try to read it. She grappled with the words and attempted to teach herself to read, but her lack of education made this task impossible. I was so moved by Hadija’s determination. Befriending these girls, I realized how rare it is to even have the opportunity to attend school.
Through my trips to Morocco and Eritrea, I have become acutely aware that millions of children worldwide, including Hadija and Iman, will suffer similar fates due to their limited educations – illiteracy, unemployment, high birth rates, and a poor quality of life. For these unfortunate children, education would provide more than just the acquisition of knowledge – it would illuminate the dark night of ignorance and light their way out of poverty. I have always loved school, and through the struggles of my parents’ immigration, I have realized the life-changing effect that education has on one’s path in life. Therefore, I would like to dedicate my life and education to providing children, such as Hadija and Iman, with the opportunity to attend school. I plan to major in International Relations, and after I finish graduate school, I hope to become an international diplomat, advocating for the education of women and children in third world countries. I sincerely understand their plights – had I stayed in Eritrea, I would be in a military training camp right now – it is mandatory that all students starting in eleventh grade perform military service for the country. Instead, however, I am here writing an essay so that I may share my story with all of you. Education has made all the difference.
